Gunning for Your Attention
by samucchi
Summary: The untold story behind Hijikata and Okita's long-standing feud - the real reason why Okita keeps trying to kill Hijikata with his bazooka. Plenty of mayonnaise, booze and BL references!


**Gunning for Your Attention**

"Get ready to fire," Hijikata ordered calmly, lighting a cigarette. Almost immediately in response, Okita had his bazooka pointed at Hijikata's head, finger resting lightly on the trigger, ready to shoot at command.

"No, not there," Hijikata glared at Okita, slit-eyed, veins surfacing and throbbing in his forehead.

"Eh –!" Okita seemed surprised.

"What're you being surprised about? I should be the one who's surprised!" Giving in to his temper, Hijikata broke and started yelling, throwing his cigarette on the floor. "Damn it, why the hell do you keep doing this anyway! You weren't like this in the beginning!"

Okita only smiled and replied, "Do you really have that much time to yell at me? The enemy's getting away."

And true enough, the horde of Yankees who were originally flat on the ground protecting their heads from the expected bazooka blast were legging it as fast as they could, making full use of the opportunity presented to them while the crazy Shinsengumi people screamed at each other. They didn't want to get caught, especially not by the light-brown haired boy who had pointed a gun at his own superior's head without batting an eyelid. They had a bad feeling about that one.

As Hijikata and the rest of the laughing team swore and ran after the bank robbers, Okita stayed put and stared after that tall, dark-haired figure. _Why do I keep doing that? You only have mayonnaise to blame. _

"Hey, Okita!" Hijikata yelled, draping a hand across Okita's shoulder. "Hey, Okita!"

"I heard you the first time round, you drunkard," even as a new member of the Shinsengumi, Okita was impertinent toward his superiors. He figured that if they found this disagreeable, they could always challenge him to a sword-fight and lose horribly. Somehow, no one had ever broached the topic – they had found his wide, innocent-looking brown eyes and that controlled, little smile sinister after they had seen him torturing a criminal with that same look, and just preferred not to oppose him in any way.

"Hey, Okita!" Hijikata ignored Okita, continuing to yell in an attempt to make himself heard over the noise of the party, "How is Mitsuba-san? Is she well? I heard her lungs are giving her trouble agai-"

The sudden sobs that racked Hijikata were lost amidst the racket of the drunken revelry, as was the huge sigh Okita heaved as he shrugged the drunk off his shoulders. "She's fine. You should be more concerned for yourself now, vice commander. Don't use drunken-ness as an excuse for losing your emotions! If you say anymore or do anything else, bad rumors may spread in the morning."

Hijikata was too lost in his own sadness to notice the sudden darkness that clouded Okita's face. The truth was, Mitsuba was not well at all. But Okita was much too stubborn, and possessive, to let anyone know that his beloved sister was dying of tuberculosis. It was a burden that he would shoulder alone fiercely. His face grew even darker as he recalled how the pair felt about each other – anyway, why the hell was he still concerned, even though it was clearly over for them? His chest grew so tight that he could hardly breathe. _ I don't want to think about this anymore._

The rest of the Shinsengumi ignored Hijikata; after all, they were used to his tears. The man even cried watching children's cartoons! Let the slobbering dolt cry himself to sleep; he's perfectly capable of that. What was more important was the party, held in honor of some famous Amanto who was not even there. But who needs an excuse to drink?

Okita was developing a pounding headache from the noise, and sudden intrusion of depressive thoughts. Staring impassively at the now peacefully-snoring Hijikata, he felt a surge of agitation. Whipping out a pen, he doodled on that idiot Hijikata's face, before taking out his eye-mask and finding a relatively quieter spot in the porch and laying down. It didn't take him much time before he was out like a lamp – the noise didn't bother him; before he drifted off, he thought to himself: _It's so much noisier during practice_.

The drinking and teasing went on and on, and ended only when the last man upright staggered out of the room to pass out in the toilet. The loud thump woke Hijikata up; he was lying on the tatami mat closest to the toilet, and the guy did hit his head pretty hard on the floor. Rubbing his eyes blearily, Hijikata moaned. _My head hurts_.

He sat up slowly, and noted almost detachedly that the room was spinning. He really didn't want to move, but the pressure on his bladder was too strong to ignore. He put a hand on the paper wall carefully, and stood up very slowly. _I need mayonnaise_.

As the door was blocked by the legs of the man who had passed out, Hijikata turned and made a beeline for the porch. Fortunately for his aching eyes and spinning head, even though the sky was beginning to lighten up, it was still relatively dark outside.

Sighing, he did what he had to do, and when he was done, he just stood there for a few seconds, breathing in the fresh morning air, enjoying the dark quiet. _The morning exercise will probably wake me up properly_, he thought, still befuddled by the copious amounts of sake he had ingested the night before. _I really could use some mayonnaise right now_.

Hijikata reached into his pocket for the bottle of mayonnaise he kept for emergencies such as these, but when he was unscrewing the cap he noticed that his hands were smudged with something that looked like black ink. It took a few more seconds for him to process that, and wonderingly, he touched his face. When he looked at his slick black fingers, it occurred to him somehow through the alcoholic haze that Okita- the punk! only he would dare! – had drawn something on his face, and the only thought that ran through his mind was – _revenge! He just gets on my nerves somehow… those huge eyes, hair that looks so soft – and his li- what the hell am I thinking about? Mitsuba – that's right, it's only because he looks so much like Mitsuba! There's no way-_

He turned around, intending to re-enter the room to look for that treacherous brat, when he stumbled over Okita's sleeping form. _He looks so much like an angel when he's asleep – wow, his hair really is as soft as it looks! That eye-mask is really irritating – I can't see his beautiful eyes – Wait! Revenge, revenge!_

Although Okita is not normally a heavy sleeper, he had drunk quite a bit the previous night, and the alcohol had its claws sunk firmly in. He only sniffed and turned his head a little when something wet oozed over his face, and wrinkled his nose at the arid, sour smell. Hijikata, on the other hand, could barely stifle his giggles as he gave Okita a mayo moustache and mayo freckles. However, before long, he was yawning again, and the last conscious moment he had before he blacked out for the second time that night was spent thinking about how soft and nice-smelling (like mayo!) his pillow was.

_Hey- it tickles_! Okita's eyes snapped open as he felt the soft, wet licks on his face. _It's dark, I can't see! – _Panicking, he struggled, and tried to push the unknown assailant away, before realizing belatedly that his eye-mask was still on. His assailant murmured soft complaints before attacking his nose next, and Okita could only barely manage to get his eye-mask off in the struggle.

"Wha- Hijikata?" Okita squinted in the early morning light, as Hijikata continued his licking assault. Okita tried squirming a little, but his change in position only made things worse, as Hijikata was now at the same level as his lips. "Hijika-mffph!"

Hijikata was going at it with gusto; it seemed as if in his mind, he was doing nothing more than eating a delicious plate of mayo, which seemed sweeter than usual. Okita put up a half-hearted attempt to break free, but – _Oh god, this feels so good – Hijikata!_ The hands that he had put up against Hijikata's chest to push away from now encircled the other man's waist, and Hijikata had his hands tangled in Okita's silky fine hair.

The pair, lying on their sides, twined their legs together, while roaming hands untucked wrinkled shirts and threw off disheveled coats. Okita gasped as Hijikata broke free from their kiss and licked his way down his neck, and winced a little as Hijikata started nibbling on his collarbone. He was hungry for another kiss, for more skin, and was just reaching out for Hijikata when Hijikata surfaced for air and murmured – "Mitsuba-!"

The hot, fiery tension leaked out of Okita all at once; this time, he found enough energy to disengage himself from the tangle. Standing, he adjusted and dusted off his clothes, before kicking Hijikata – who was groping blindly for "Mitsuba" who had mysteriously disappeared – in the side.

As he left the porch, he missed the soft whisper – "Mitsuba, I'm so sorry. Sougo-!"

Hijikata's eyes were open, and his expression indescribable. He stared longingly after Okita as he stomped away, wiping off remaining bits of mayonnaise as he headed for the toilet.

The truth was, Hijikata had sobered once he had started kissing Okita – and realized that all along, the person he was burning for was not Mitsuba, but Sougo. At the same time, he was hit with the reality of their situation, and how it was nothing short of impossible for them to be romantically involved. They had a duty, to the country as much as to the commander, and to themselves, to uphold. They were the Shinsengumi. He had to nip this in the bud, and the only way to do it was to make Sougo – no, Okita – think that he had no space in his heart for him. Yet – he could not bear to be as harsh toward Okita as he had towards Mitsuba, so this was the only way._ This is the only way._

As he walked back inside, he brushed past Okita without a backward glance. _Nothing has happened; nothing is going to happen._

Okita stood stock-still for a second, eyes wide open, pupils dilated, and for a second, he thought of turning, of calling out – but the moment passed, and he squared his shoulders, and walked on.

That afternoon, when they were out hunting some rouge Amanto, Okita trained his crosshair on Hijikata for the first time. _Why don't you look at me? Can't you remember? Or do I look so much like nee-san that it's painful for you? Damn it! Look at me!_

And he pressed the trigger.


End file.
